“We talked about it,” Malerick says carefully. “And for now, Hopper’s going to be staying at our old place—my mother’s home. It’s secure, and it gives us room to work without worrying about keeping the immediate area clear.”
I glance at Hopper, who looks up at me, his expression unreadable. Why am I not going with him?
“What about me?”
“You’ve got two options,” Malerick says, crossing his arms. “You can stay with your grandmother. We’ll make sure there’s security in place if you choose that. Or—” He hesitates, his eyes flicking between Hopper and me. “You can go with Hopper to the Timberbridge property. It’s your call.”
My instinct is to follow them, to stay close to where things are happening, but the thought of being around Hopper and Maddie any longer makes my heart ache in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.
And that’s the problem.
I’m too comfortable here. Too settled. And it’s dangerous.
“I’ll go to my grandmother’s,” I say quickly, before I can change my mind. “It’s time to say hello. Though will she be safe if I’m around her?”
Malerick nods, like he was expecting that. Hopper, though, frowns slightly, his jaw tightening.
“She’ll be perfectly fine, but are you sure?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s better this way. Besides, I need to check on my grandmother. She’s supposedly sick.”
Malerick frowns, but doesn’t say anything. Hopper doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.
Packing my things takes less time than I expect, which makes sense considering I didn’t have much to begin with. Hopper watches from the doorway of the guest room as I fold the last of my clothes into a bag.
“You don’t have to go, you know,” he says after a long moment.
I glance up at him, my chest tightening again. “I think I do.”
His brow furrows. “Why?”
Because I like it here. Because Maddie’s laughter makes me forget how much my life has fallen apart. Because the way you look at me makes me feel like I could be something more than a broken, scared woman running from her past.
Because I want you to kiss me, you idiot.
But I don’t say any of that.
“It’s just . . . better this way,” I say instead, zipping up the bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
Hopper steps aside as I walk past him, but his eyes stay on me, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m not saying.
Malerick drives me to my grandmother’s house, his truck rumbling steadily down the road. He doesn’t say much, which I’m grateful for. I don’t think I could handle a conversation right now.
When we pull up to the small, white house with its neatly trimmed hedges and flower-filled window boxes, my grandmother is already waiting on the porch. She looks smaller than I remember, her frame stooped slightly with age, but her smile is as warm as ever.
The air inside my grandmother’s house is warm, filled with the familiar scent of lavender and cookies she must have baked earlier. Even after all these years, nothing about it has changed—the wooden floors creak in the same places, the old clock on the wall ticks steadily, and the soft floral curtains sway with the breeze coming through the open window.
It’s like stepping back in time, like I never left.
But I did.
I follow her down the hallway, my fingers grazing the wall as I pass the framed photos that have hung there for as long as I can remember. There’s one of my parents on their wedding day, my dad’s hand resting protectively on my mom’s waist. Another of my brother at eight years old, missing his front teeth, grinning up at the camera like the world belonged to him.
I look away before the ache in my chest can deepen.
We stop at the door to my old bedroom, and my grandmother squeezes my shoulder gently.
“Get some rest, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “Later you can come with me to the bookstore. We’ll have a long conversation.”
